


The Dead

by lmeden



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-20
Updated: 2010-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmeden/pseuds/lmeden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus wakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dead

Remus jolts awake in a single instant; shocked into complete rigidity by the _scream_ that pierces his sleep.

He takes in a deep, shuddering breath and opens his eyes. He blinks several times. Above him hangs a heavy ceiling, all thick timbers and boards, with cobwebs and malevolent spiders crowding the corners. Remus stares up at it, wondering how it got there – or rather, how he came to lie underneath it. Everything is silent – the ragged, desperate cry that woke him is not repeated. Remus' muscles slowly unwind, and he relaxes down into the lumpy mattress.

He feels _alive_. His heart beats steadily within him, sending pulses out to the tips of his fingers and toes. He stares at the ceiling, eyes wide. Closing his eyes again feels terribly wrong. So he pulls his arms up, and pushes himself onto his elbows, and rolls over and off the bed. As he stands, legs tender and sore, a set of dark robes slips off the bed and skims to the floor. Remus tugs at them, squinting at the stains and tears that mar them.

He recognizes some of these stains. Down by the hem is a patch of darkness that he acquired in Hogwarts. A small pool of blood had lurked by a pile of fallen stones, and he had not seen the liquid quickly enough, as he'd been rushing through the chaos of battle. He'd wondered briefly who was trapped under the stones, bleeding and perhaps dead, but had had no time to stop.

And, up by the neck, a few buttons had been completely torn off, leaving the collar gaping open and showing the white, buttoned shirt that he wears underneath. A spell had missed him just barely – rushing past him and ripping his robes open as he had watched Bellatrix Lestrange kill his wife. He wishes that the spell had not missed.

Remus clutches the neck of his robes together and stares at the other sundry stains and tears that trail across his robes. He doesn't remember getting them. Not at all. He wonders, dimly, what happened.

And then his mind begins to work and he knows, _knows_ , that the moon is full, or near to it. His emotions are dull. He is awake, and cannot sleep, but he doesn't care either. His wife's death is a dull ache, borne more of obligation than true feeling. He can feel the wolf lurking within him, stealing his thoughts and emotions.

The wolf is also, already, enhancing his senses.

There is heavy breathing in another room. He hears it.

Remus turns to find the source of the noise, and his eyes trail unwillingly over the open window. Soft light streams in. He can see the dark night sky above clustered buildings – a bright moon hidden behind clouds. It is full, then. The change that lurks constantly within him is nearly the surface, ready to rip its way out and destroy him. He retreats to the door and into the dark hallway outside.

Once there, Remus stills completely and listens. The breathing is coming from down the hall…

He turns to the right and walks, listening closely. Not the first door, nor the second. Small glass bottles litter the floor of the hall, glittering as his eyes pass over them. They appear to be potions vials, but they are smashed, and Remus does not care enough to stop and look at them more closely.

Then the third door, yes, the third. Remus reaches for the doorknob and pauses. Who is it? He doesn't know – he has absolutely no clue. Terrible images rush through his mind – visions of Tonks lying bleeding on the floor, Harry's eyes staring at him as green and dead as Lily's, blood spreading slowly. He considers these possibilities. Despite the cool detachment of the wolf within, dread circles his mind like another wolf, another monster, altogether.

As he thinks, his fingers come to rest on the cold metal doorknob, and he jerks in surprise. His mind suddenly clear and freed from the grasp of the wolf, Remus knows that he needs to open this door. He has no idea where he is or how he has gotten here. He needs to know what's beyond this door.

So he flings the door open and stumbles inside, coming to a precarious stop at the edge of a pane of moonlight that flows through the single wide window and over a figure in a chair, a small table, and the floor.

The word _cunt_ shivers through Remus as he stares, his hatred of the woman before him surging up so strongly as to overpower him and render him helpless in the grip of his desire to kill, kill, kill this woman who murdered his wife, whose wand had flicked and sent out that bright spell that caused only dark things and destroyed everything of Remus' - _everything_ in a single instant – and so he throws himself forward and into the blinding moonlight to rend her flesh from her bones and devour Bellatrix Lestrange as she devoured and mangled his joy.

And then he feels the moonlight seize his bones and begin to reshape them, and Remus throws himself backwards and out of the light. He scrambles towards the corner where shadows shudder, desperately trying to hold their delicate little selves together against the moon's assault.

Remus turns his head slowly and gazes at the figure in the chair. A dull shock runs through him as he sees that it is not, after all, Bellatrix Lestrange. The man sitting has the same black hair, yes, and the same wild look in his eyes, but as the wolf's mind returns to Remus he can smell, _sense_ , that this is not at all the same person. Severus Snape sits in the chair before him. And Remus remembers, dimly, bringing Snape here, feeding him Potions and leaving their vials to fall and shatter in the hall, and healing him of the grievous wound that Remus' eyes and wolfish brain still seeks out. Snape fought him, twisting and snarling as his strength returned, and so Remus had acted without thought, tying him down to the kitchen chair, leaving him to suffer as Remus himself rested.

He had not been in his right mind. But neither is he now. The snake's bite curls around Snape's neck, he recalls, and he can still smell the blood that seeps gently, sluggishly, from it. Remus looks away and at the ropes that secure Snape, keep him still and quiescent. Snape's black eyes glitter as he fixes them upon Remus. They are wide with terror, though his lips are parted in a snarl of hate. He seems to be fighting the urge to throw himself, and the chair that he is tied to at the wrists and ankles, backwards to flee from the werewolf before him.

As he huddles in the corner, Remus feels the wolf recede slightly and turn away; the power of the moon lessens as clouds moved across its face and Remus himself stays away from its light.

Remus pulls his hands away from his body. He flexes them. They are sore from his near-change. But, thankfully, they remain human. He pushes against the wall and stands. Snape watches him intently, the blood that glues his dark hair in dark snarls and whorls across his face is bright crimson, even in this scant light. Remus moves towards him. He needs to apologize for binding and keeping Snape so – to find sanity and his own mind within this night.

"Severus, I do apologize." As he steps forwards to undo the bonds snaking around Snape's wrists, the other man draws back as far as he can, as if he could escape by mere force of will. Remus ignores his movement and focuses on speaking.

"Severus, I'm sorry. Please, don't fight, I can't—I need to untie these and you can't pull away like that—I—"

Remus knows that he is rambling, but it helps. It keeps him focused upon the man, and upon his task, rather than the wolf that writhes within him. He forces his eyes to focus on his fingers and his gaze to remain there. He studies the whiteness of his skin, bleached and worn by his years. He studies how thin scars create a tracery of landscapes across his fingers and palm, and up his arms. He does not look up, and allow his eyes and mind to succumb to the siren's call of Snape blood so close, and so pungent.

But Snape's struggles are enticing, and the fear that he tries to hide merely feeds the wolf's power. Remus finds himself leaning down, closer and closer to Snape. Before he can stop himself, he takes a long breath of Snape's scent. The man's neck is only inches from Remus' lips.

Remus attempts to pull away, to refocus, but cannot. He remains where he is, lips parted in the air over Snape's neck. He thinks of Tonks, but the desire he feels right now has everything to do with lust and hunger, and is nothing like the simple love that he once felt for her. The hate that he felt when he believed Snape to be Bellatrix Lestrange has been subsumed into his desire, and helps him not at all. Everything is feeding into his bloodlust and the churning power of the wolf within.

He feels his fingers twitch as the wolf roils inside him.

Snape turns his face towards Remus, and the fear in his eyes has lessened. He seems to know that Remus is himself and no one else, yet – that Remus is working on working to set him free.

And then the clouds covering the moon rip apart and fall away.

Remus gasps as pain tears through him; the very air is ripped from his lungs. With his remaining shreds of self-control, he pulls his hands back and away, gripping the wooden arms of the chair rather than Snape's arms. The wood begins to give under his grip with a groan. Snape jerks back and turns his head, shielding the side of his neck that remains raw and ripped open by the snakebite.

The nails on Remus' fingers and toes shivery curl to become claws that dig through the leather of his shoes and dig deep in the wood of the chair and floor. Remus sags against Snape, nearly falling into the man's lap.

His teeth are ripping themselves from his gums and turning into sharp fangs. Remus lowers his mouth towards Snape's neck, lips parting to let slip saliva in his hunger for the blood that has congealed there. He can smell Snape, hear the blood pumping strong under his skin, the breath that rasps through his throat.

Snape's hand – the only one that Remus managed to free before the moon caught him – comes up and presses against Remus' face, turning it away from the blood. Remus snarls and Snape's hand flinches back. With his eyes and shape shifting, Remus can no longer see Snape's face or expression.

Snape's hand disappears, and Remus throws his head back. He feels the claws on his hands shred the wood of the chair and through the confining bonds. Freed, Snape pushes against him, but he is not strong enough, and the struggle merely inflames the wolf in Remus, and he wraps his arms with their warping bones close around Snape and pulls him closer and closer until his claws are digging through Snape's thick robes and into his skin; Snape turns his head until his mouth is next to Remus' ear and their panting presses their chests tight together and Snape whispers, in a rough and broken voice, " _Lagneia_."

It is a spell, Remus knows this much, because in the next instant his pain and agony shrivels and explodes once more into pleasure. The bones in his hands stretch and twist, and Remus shudders, his cock growing hard where it's trapped between the two of them. The bones of his legs stretch and shift, and then his knees snap backwards with a shuddering crack. Remus shouts and moves, digging his erection into Snape's leg.

The other man is panting, and Remus is too dizzied by the transformation to process it. He whines and pushes against Snape, already feeling his face begin to turn into a snout, his tongue lengthening abnormally so that it can slip from his now-inadequate mouth and lap at Snape's throat, cleaning away and relishing the blood there, curling around the tendons and veins.

Snape's hand trembles, but works it way down Remus' front, pulling at the buttons of his robes and freeing his cock. That at least has not changed, though Remus' back has recurled and stiffened, and his ribs have spread. Thick hair is beginning to curl across his shoulders, and the sensation of each individual hair burrowing its way out, through his skin, is enough to drive Remus mad with longing. He wants his robes off so that he can savor the feeling.

A hand fastens around Remus' cock, and he is stunned at the realization that it is Snape touching him, gripping him roughly. It moves awkwardly, but it sends shivers of arousal through Remus and his eyes flutter closed. He drags his long tongue up over Snape's jaw and past his lips, slipping it inside his mouth and nipping with his long jaw at his mouth. Fresh blood springs up into his mouth and Remus yelps, his voice already dog-like and unwieldy.

A groan bursts from Snape and Remus is delighted to discover that Snape's cock is hardening beneath him, between them.

Then Remus' spine creaks and shudders, and doubles as a tail snaps free from the rest of his body, whipping out and around them both. The pleasure from this sends Remus into a convulsion and his breath stops completely as the he is overwhelmed and his vision flares and he comes.

Bonelessly, Remus slides from Snape's lap and to the floor. He struggles to get his hindquarters underneath him and sit, but he is too exhausted. He pants happily and leans his muzzle against Snape's thigh. Snape shifts and pushes slowly up from the chair. Remus looks up, but even with wolf-eyes, he cannot fathom the expression in Snape's eyes. His thoughts begin to slow and simplify.

A foot lashes out and Remus attempts to dart away but the floor is slick and his claws slip and so it catches him in the side and sends him rolling across the floor. Remus barks in surprise and pleasure slips through him.

Snape whispers harshly and it curls into his wolf-brain through wolf-ears, and means nothing. Remus curls over to lick at his side, to try and coax more pleasure from the throbbing, swelling bruise on his ribs, but it does not help. The sensation begins to fade, no matter how Remus nips and worries at himself.

Whining, Remus crawls back for more.

**Author's Note:**

> The word 'lagneia' is Greek, and means coition, and lust. It's derivative lagnia, serves as a suffix for all sorts of interesting sexual tendencies. The first of which is algolagnia, or 'A form of sexual perversion in which the infliction or the experiencing of pain increases the pleasure of the sexual act or causes sexual pleasure independent of the act'.


End file.
